"Sailor," he says, with a little nod. Hickey stays where he is, guarding the corpse and the gun like he's a dog standing over it's prey. He wants this gun. He's going to get this gun. The only question is, who's going to be in his way.

"Specifically, a sailor on an exploratory expedition. Went well for the first year or so. Then things started to...falter."

A diplomatic way of phrasing it if there ever was one.